


of treaties and fireworks

by doctormissy



Series: all aboard the ineffable plan [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Lucifer (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bickering, Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Drinking, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Humor, Light Bondage, M/M, New Year's Day, Non-Graphic Smut, Other, POV Alternating, Paperwork, Post-Canon, She/Her Pronouns for Michael (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Speeches, The politics of heaven and hell, Ze/Zir Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), a metric tonne of footnotes, michael has an earth residence, peace between heaven and hell, some fluff and bits of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormissy/pseuds/doctormissy
Summary: Most people and people-shaped beings around the Universe now know that Lucifer was the last person to want to bring Armageddon about. A year and four months later, everyone is celebrating New Year's Day and advocating peace between the two sides.Or, in other words, five times someone celebrates a new decade + one time they celebrate a new era.…Or do they?
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Dagon/Michael (Good Omens), Eve/Mazikeen (Lucifer TV), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens), The Them & Adam Young (Good Omens), Trixie Decker & Adam Young (Good Omens)
Series: all aboard the ineffable plan [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1492577
Comments: 12
Kudos: 89
Collections: 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge





	of treaties and fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> *️⃣ set after "all aboard the ineffable plan"
> 
> 3️⃣ part three of a three-part storyline
> 
> ✳️ I highly suggest _reading_ the previous two parts because there are references, and it makes more sense, anyway. it can all be read without knowledge of aatip though :)
> 
> ⬅️ [part one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21958024/chapters/52399501)
> 
> I'm sorry this is so long, but it's basically two chapters squeezed into one. anyway. happy new year, and I hope you like this conclusion to the storyline and basically the whole fic! <3

**SOUTH DOWNS, 31 DECEMBER 2019**

3:51 PM PST • **11:51 PM GMT**

Supernatural entities did not, more or less as a general rule, celebrate New Years.

They tended to celebrate new centuries, yes, the New Year’s Day of 1799 and 1899 and 1999, but worrying about every New Year was, well, purposeless. They’d do nothing _but_. For such entities, Decembers 31st were but another excuse to get together and imbibe just about as much wine as usual over philosophical debates.

That was not to say their human friends didn’t feel otherwise inclined.

Especially when this particular New Year also marked a wholly new decade; a truly exciting thing for beings whose lifespan barely covered _one_ century.

Said human friends have also never seen the inside of the supernatural beings’ seaside cottage other than in photos, and so, thanks to the collective effort of Anathema and Adam, they found themselves offering the place as venue for the night of drinking and pushing the boat out[1], and even buying _fireworks_.

Well, Aziraphale did the offering, and Crowley did the buying, really.

The demon was getting them out on the beach as we speak, opening boxes and struggling with his cashmere scarf always getting in the way because of the bloody _wind_. At least Aziraphale had plaited his hair again, so that wasn’t a bother.

‘There!’ he called to the group huddled by the edge of the grassy slope. ‘All we need now is the champagne and—’

‘Not to let Newt anywhere near the fireworks!’ Anathema called back. There was an echo of laughs. Justified, too, because Lord knows what would happen if they _did_. Especially after all the drinks.

Crowley made his way back to the group, properly red-faced from the wind and alcohol, of which he’s had more than any human could consider healthy, but, demon physiology. He couldn’t exactly get alcohol poisoning.

Anathema’s uni mates, Carmen and Mary-Louise, hundred-percent civilian, didn’t know that though. Watching their horrified, concerned, and a tad bewildered faces was properly, demonically _fun_.

Even if resident supernaturals had to hold back on the miracles and watch their mouths when they were around[2].

‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t dare,’ Newt said with a nervous chuckle. ‘They’re not electronic, but…’

‘Best get yer paws away from the devil’s work! Pah,’ said Shadwell, well on his sixth pint. Crowley suspected he’s only come for the free drinks, and privately wouldn’t mind his absence at all. Tracy patted his elbow and added, ‘Aye aye. We don’t want the poor dear to _actually_ hurt himself this time. And oh, we’ve only got five minutes left!’

Huh. Yeah. Crowley checked his watch. He cast a sidelong glance at Aziraphale, who was talking to Adam and Pepper, hands buried in the pockets of his beige— _obviously_ —winter coat.

Because of course the kids came too; Adam and his Antichristly powers had convinced everyone’s parents that they were going to bed when really, they were getting in the Bentley and Dick Turpin. Brian and Wensleydale, who was yawning every five minutes, were playing with Dog on the shore. The former Hellhound didn’t mind that the water was—well, cold as Hell[3].

‘Angel? Want to go help me with the glasses?’

‘Oh! Oh, sure. It’s almost here, isn’t it?’ Aziraphale said, wiggling in anticipation. ‘The decade that—’ He swallowed, bobbed his head. ‘Shouldn’t have been.’

Yeah. They deserved a nice pat on the back for that.

And Adam too, of course. Shut up.

It was just a few steps to the porch, where the two bottles—one non-alcoholic, for the kids—and twelve glasses stood cold and ready. Before he grabbed any of it, Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. His own was cold. Bloody winter. ‘And if we’re lucky,’ he said, leaning closer, ‘the bosses’ll be signing a treaty that will make sure it’ll stay that way forever this time tomorrow.’

‘If we’re lucky,’ Aziraphale parroted. ‘Well, I suppose praying wouldn’t be amiss on this occasion.’

Crowley shook his head. Praying? He was being ridiculous. Maybe She’s wanted this, maybe—but She would hardly help, has he not learnt anything? Honestly.

‘Let’s not go there,’ he said. ‘Look, I hate to say this, but Michael—ever since it’s been out[4] that she’s been shacking up with good ol’ Dagon, she’s been trying to make this work, bloody wanker she is.’ He was _immensely_ glad neither of them decided to join the party today, too. Speaking of, ‘Let’s get this over there and drink to that. Make a wish, eh?’

Aziraphale nodded softly, like he did. There were no other words for it in Crowley’s brain’s Drawer of Aziraphale-isms. He let go of the demon’s hand and lifted the tray with the glass flutes, always more careful around glassware than Crowley. Crowley got the bottles. There were three minutes left, and they laid the celebrators’ paraphernalia onto a table they’d dragged out earlier and miracled steady on the slightly wet—this was England in December, of course it was wet with precipitation—sand.

‘Can we have some of the _actual_ champagne?’ asked Pepper, appearing out of nowhere. ‘It’s discrimination, giving us the disgusting pink bubbly.’

‘But we’re not supposed to drink alcohol, Pepper, we’re twelve,’ Wensleydale told her. They all gathered around the table, even Dog. He was shaking out the water and getting it everywhere. ‘It’s bad for us, and our parents would be upset.’

‘But no one would tell our parents, would they?’ Adam grinned, knowingly. He did a lot of things knowingly. ‘Uncle Crowley?’

‘Oi, don’t ask me,’ he replied. He might be a demon, but he still wouldn’t give alcohol to kids. Bad stuff. Ruins your brain cells. Look at him. ‘‘Zira would be upset with _me_. No, you’re drinking the pink bubbly. Wait till you’re at least 16, then you can have champagne. Doubt you’d like it though.’

And it was Shloer anyway, which was for adults, so they shouldn’t complain. Kids these days.

‘I can have liqueur pralines sometimes,’ said Brian. ‘Gran always has these cherry ones with, well, cherry liqueur and they make you all warm inside but kinda taste like cough drops if cough drops tasted like cherry. I haven’t decided if I like them yet.’

Pepper crossed her arms and said, ‘Maybe everyone should have the pink bubbly then.’

Crowley snorted. He liked this girl.

He removed the muselet from both bottles, ready to pop them any minute now. Tracy sidled up to them with a bit of a smirk and her husband still hanging off her elbow and said, ‘This company? I don’t think so, dear.’

Aziraphale giggled. Because that was something he actually _did_. ‘Oh, you’re right. We’re incorrigible.’

‘It’s 11:59, guys!’ Anathema called, the last to join the flock around the table. Her friends were trailing behind her. ‘Jeez, I was _twelve_ the last time we were celebrating the end of a decade. Twelve! And now I’m—’ she hiccoughed. There’s been some cider involved. ‘Twenty-two. And married. And in England.’

‘It’s alright, dear. I find myself quite shocked too,’ said the man she was married to. ‘And I think I’ve had too much—beer[5]. Oh no oh sh— _oot_.’

And then someone started counting down from ten, the whole charade, and Crowley shoved the non-alcoholic bottle to Anathema so they could pop it at once. Unhinged, the corks made a nice arc in the air and dropped onto the sand somewhere. The actual champagne flew out of the bottle like lava from a volcano and promptly ended up filling eight of those glasses. People were cheering and grabbing glasses sooner than Crowley or Anathema were done with all of them. Impatient lot.

It was all a blur, really. Chaotic. That was why he didn’t like New Year’s Day celebrations. Too much fuss over something that happened every year.

He took his own glass, the last one. And then Aziraphale was kissing him—not like last year in London[6], when Crowley gave him a kiss on the cheek and panicked over it for three days, only to find out Aziraphale’d been avoiding him because he was looking for cottages for sale. Properly, on the mouth, with a smile on his lips and the taste of vanilla biscuits and cabernet on his tongue. And Crowley opened up to it, uncaring who saw.

He was starting to like this particular tradition. Even if it ended too soon. Aziraphale drank his champagne and Crowley did the same, and then someone was yelling, ‘Let’s light up the sky!’ and one of the kids was saying, ‘This is just glorified pop. _Honestly_.’

Pepper, probably. She was right.

‘Did you say something about lighting up the sky?’ Crowley said, grinning and already on his way to the boxes of pyrotechnics. Carmen was asking about lighters and matches, but he didn’t need one. ‘I’ve got that covered,’ he shouted back, and clicked his fingers to light the fuse. Discretely.

Hellfire shouldn’t change the game much, right? He hoped so, anyway. The spark was fierce.

Three missiles flew up to the sky and exploded in blasts of red and green. Then another three, and another, and Crowley lit up another pack of fireworks, this time golden and sort of fizzy. And despite not really caring for any of this, he grinned. The colours reflected on the dark water, and it felt like they’ve already won—something.

He felt better about that meeting with Heaven and Hell, anyway. A tiny bit.

Dog was barking like crazy, mostly complaining[7] about the loudness, wondering what the fuck, and then even swearing some more until Adam told him to _stay calm, boy, it’s just fireworks_.

It was just fireworks. It was also 2020, and wouldn’t it be nice if the roaring twenties and swing parties came back? He still had a few dresses hidden somewhere.

He drank down the rest of his drink. Aziraphale took his hand, laced their fingers together. A demon had hope, for once.

* * *

**LOS ANGELES**

**12:02 AM PST •** 8:02 AM GMT

Somewhere else, an angel and a demon were having breakfast[8]. At LUX, the Devil was standing atop the staircase and popping confetti[9] while hostesses carried out flutes of champagne—yes, some had the confetti in them—and music was blasting at full volume, a slightly distorted version of a Dua Lipa number.

_Some_ supernatural beings never passed up an opportunity to party and enjoyed every second of it, even if they had sparklers and electrically controlled fire on stage instead of fireworks and played the piano to a bunch of clubgoers instead of Cards Against Humanity with friends.

That was not to say some of the clubgoers weren’t his friends.

There was Ella, snogging a handsome, dark-haired stranger at the bar. There were Maze and Eve, making champagne foam rain in the middle of the dancefloor and wearing those ridiculous paper glasses with zeroes for eyes, which he’d never, ever put on because he was the Devil, not a bloody buffoon. There were—well, some billionaire acquaintances of his, the Waynes, Oliver Queen… plenty of them. Then there was Chloe.

Lucifer slung an arm around her shoulder and held her close, thoroughly kissed and laughing. He pressed another kiss against her hair. There was a confetto there too, an evil thing. He picked it up and let it flutter onto the floor. She beamed up at him.

He was bloody lucky Devil.

Amenadiel was standing on his right[10], still looking properly angelic even with the sticky glass in his hand. ‘Can you believe it’s almost ten years we’ve been on Earth, brother?’ he said, taking a sip. ‘And I spent more than a half of those trying to force you to go back.’

‘And succeeded, too,’ Lucifer said, even though it was only indirectly Amenadiel’s fault, the going-back-to-reclaim-his-throne thing. ‘But bygones and all that. You’ve changed.’ He glanced at Chloe. ‘We all have. We’ve—grown.’

_Is it even possible when you’re billions of years old?_ he might have asked, once. Well, would you look at that. Fallen angels could love. Angels could Fall and Rise again, all within two years. Angels and Fallen angels could defy everything the head offices stood for and help a slightly supernatural child save the world, together.

His son. He still wasn’t completely over _that_ discovery.

‘Well,’ Amenadiel raised his glass. He had to raise his voice as well, to be heard over the thumping bass. ‘To keeping Earth, then. And to the two of you, finding love despite countless obstacles and holding on to it even through Hell. And—showing _me_ the beauty of Earth and humanity.’

Chloe took two champagne glasses from a hostess and passed one to Lucifer. ‘To new beginnings?’

‘To a new decade,’ Lucifer nodded, throwing in one of his Disarming Grins. His glass clinked against Chloe’s, and then he turned to his brother. It wouldn’t do to make him feel left out. ‘And no more wars between us.’

It was just after midnight. In twelve hours, over a hundred angels and demons[11], respectively, would meet in the miraculously enlarged Lobby of the Earth Department Building and decide the fate of the future of Heaven, Hell, Earth, and everything in between by voting on accepting the Armistice Treaty, alternative title: To Smite Or Not To Smite?

Just one of those dreary meetings Lucifer fought to stay awake at, you see, nothing life-changing at all.

‘No more wars, brother,’ he said.

Then he noticed Maze and Eve making their way up the stairs, and the former of the two was holding her phone, brows knit together. That didn’t bear any good. He sighed. ‘Excuse me; looks like Hell business won’t leave me alone even at a party.’

He downed his drink and took two steps towards them.

‘Hey, Lucifer,’ Maze said, ‘we have news about Hastur and his poor-ass attempt to steal your Hellhounds.’

Yes, Hell business indeed. Oh well. ‘Tell me, ladies. The quicker we get this over with, the quicker we can go back to drinking and grinding, eh?’ He grinned and sidled up to Maze and her text message chain.

Unfortunately, he was also close enough for Eve to put a pair of those godawful glasses on his head. ‘Now, that’s better,’ she giggled, somewhat drunk. When he reached up to take them off, she pouted and shook her head.

Well, he wouldn’t let all this rain on his parade, he told himself, and listened to what the demon had to say. He could get rid of them when the music took the ladies back to the dance floor, or perhaps some private quarters.

‘Dagon says she had Beelz and Turtleman[12] investigate and question a few demons, and after some light torture, this guy who works under him snitched and told them he was planning to get himself a loyal and properly bloodthirsty Hellhound commando to overthrow the—quote-unquote—soft and weak management.’

‘With Hellhounds? From the Royal Kennels? It doesn’t matter who raises them, they’ll always listen to me. Idiot,’ Lucifer scoffed. But still, the audacity! This couldn’t go unpunished, spreading dissent now that Hell was back to working like clockwork. Slightly filthy and tardy clockwork, but. Let’s not focus on the fine print.

‘Right? Demons have no _class_ anymore,’ Maze said. She put the phone back into the very tight pocket of her very tight leather trousers. Danger glistened in her eyes. ‘I hope you’re gonna do something real nasty to him.’

‘Worry not, dear Maze. Always thought of adequate punishments, haven’t I?’ He put a hand on her shoulder, and imagined the 2020 paper glasses distorted everything he said somewhat. Bloody thing. ‘Is that everything?’

‘Crowley and company are wishing us a happy new year, but nothing important,’ Eve said. She was swaying her hips to the song. And turning her attention to Maze. ‘I love this one! Babe, c’mon, let’s dance!’

They did. Lucifer texted Crowley and Co. back—there was a group chat, and yes, he could’ve read about Hastur himself, but he didn’t exactly have a mind to check when he was in the middle of counting down from ten and giving his fiancée one Hell of a midnight kiss, pun intended—and returned to Chloe and Amenadiel.

This was no time to be Lucifer, King of Hell. This was a time to be Lucifer, nightclub owner celebrating the turn of the decade.

* * *

**LONDON**

3:26 AM PST • **11:26 AM GMT**

Divine ecstasy.

If Gabriel wasn’t the paragon of the perfect angel who never, ever dared utter but a single blasphemous word, those would be the words he’d use to describe the feeling of Beelzebub’s thighs holding him down to the bed, zir nails biting into his torso, the pull of _his own goddamn tie_ wrapped around his wrists and the bed’s frame as ze rode him towards _another_ release and he just couldn’t last any longer, couldn’t hold back, but ze was telling him to be a good angel and wait, wait until ze comes, then he’ll have earned it—

But that wasn’t who he was. He kept his mouth shut, for once, and rocked harder underneath the Prince, let zir nails scrape across his pectorals and travel up his arms until the wiry frame bent[13] where ze was pinning his wrists down together with the tie, until ze was a shuddering, panting mess.

He closed his eyes. ‘Bee, I’m gonna—’

‘Don’t call me that,’ ze snapped, but zir heart wasn’t in it, not really. He started to suspect ze was warming up to the nickname some two months ago. Beelzebub bit zir lip and clenched around him. There, in his ear, ‘Go on then.’

He did. And absolutely didn’t whimper. He still had some _dignity_.

Beelzebub got rid of the purple silk tie; threw it onto the floor, somewhere near his dove-grey shirt, no doubt rumpled beyond saving. Gabriel stretched his wrists and used his thumbs to get the sweat-damp hair out of zir face, an uncontrollable mess like always. He kissed zir forehead.

‘Ugh, soft angel,’ ze scoffed, climbing off of him and curling up next to his equally sweat-damp body. If you looked at him on the metaphysical plane of being, you could see he was _shining_ all over, his golden angelic marks almost scorching to the touch.

Good thing those were on his back. Demons could get hurt if they touched that raw angelic power—but then again, Beelzebub has always loved fire. Then, now.

‘You’re radiating love all over. It’s dizzgusting,’ ze said into his chest, after ze snapped the mess away. Ze’s told him once that once you noticed, you couldn’t un-notice it, much like that duck that was a rabbit when you turned it around[14]. And demons, despite the popular opinion, _could_ notice.

‘Happy New Year,’ Gabriel said, grinning like the most complacent, most physically exhausted Archangel out there. He glanced at the clock above the door, which has just materialised precisely there simply because he wanted to check the time, and his expression quickly turned into a horrified one. ‘Almighty in the Heavens, we should probably get out of bed. It’s almost _noon_.’

They’ve been at it for—Christ, almost thirteen hours. With a break to watch the fireworks above London with some conjured-up champagne, but that was still mostly Beelzebub. Ze’d been wearing Gabriel’s shirt, _only_ his shirt, and standing on the balcony…

There’s been a lot of tension to work through, what with the impending meeting and the intradepartmental conferences they’d both gone through on the 30th, announcing the technicalities of the aforementioned meeting and all that nonsense.

‘Well, we’ve got until five at least—’

‘And I’m _spent_ , Bee.’ Ze gave him a sour look. The fingers playing with his nipple certainly didn’t help anything. This was _very_ hard to say, but, ‘You’ve officially pushed my angelic stamina to its limits.’

‘Does the mighty Gabriel admit a demon has bested him at last? _All is fair in love and war_ …’

Absolutely not. He would still win in a fight. Definitely. He was the Archangel-fucking-Gabriel, and _sex_ and _fighting_ were completely _different_ things. It was zir female corporation, that was it. Nothing to do whatsoever with their odds in a fight against each other. Which they won’t have to face, ever, if things go right.

Fuck, when did he start to _want_ that[15]? Like— _them_?

Also, there was that other part of the sentence. He cocked an eyebrow and ran a hand through zir hair. ‘Does the mighty Prince of Flies admit ze loves an angel?’

‘Fuck off. You’re deflecting,’ ze grumbled, evasively, but did nothing whatsoever to dissuade his hand from petting zir hair some more.

Said hand travelled along zir spine and the death’s-head moth tattoo covering the upper part of it. ‘So are you, sunshine.’

Beelzebub propped zirself up on an elbow, right on top of his chest. Ze purposefully pushed zir weight down on him, the little shit. ‘Alright, you know what—’

‘Shower?’ Gabriel suggested before he’d have to give zir the satisfaction of letting zir know it _hurt_.

‘Heavens yes.’

They got up and piled into the hotel room’s single showering cubicle. It was sort of a ritual nowadays: going to a pub or bistro or café, where Beelzebub consumed about a half of its menu while they talked about work or something or other, teleportation-miracling into the same room[16] of the same cheap hotel, spending the night in the sheets, taking a shower afterwards. Together. Just like the first time.

( _‘Have you ever seen a demon showering?’ ‘No, and nor do I desire to.’ Yeah, that had been a lie._ )

‘Two yearzz ago I’d have laughed in everyone’s face and have them quartered if they so much as whispered about _cooperation_ between the sidezz,’ Beelzebub said, apropos of nothing, when Gabriel slid the shower doors closed and turned the water on behind zir. Scalding hot.

‘I still think it’s ridiculous, if Michael thinks this can work—’

But. He didn’t want to vanquish Beelzebub in battle anymore, did he? All this—changed his opinion of demons, somewhat. Some of them. Anyway. It wasn’t like they were suddenly welcomed into Heaven, was it? They just… wouldn’t have a war scheduled anymore. No Great Plan. Just… ineffability.

Not knowing a fucking thing.

‘Look, I’m not too happy about it either,’ Beelzebub said. Ze pushed Gabriel out of the stream so ze could soak zir hair. ‘More paperwork for starterzz, yearly meetingzz, _punishment_ for killing one from the opposite side. But maybe it’s not—’ ze cut off whatever was at the end of that sentence. Gabriel raised an inquiring eyebrow. Ze gritted zir teeth and said, ‘A— _bad_ thing.’

And then it was like some sort of _weight_ fell of zir chest. That’s what ze was trying to _say_.

Gabriel sighed and wrapped his arms around zir. Water rained over both of them, washing down all the sweat and worries. He took a deep breath he has learnt to need every now and then. ‘Maybe it’s what we need.’

‘Look at him, _thinking_ ,’ Beelzebub sneered against his chest.

‘Shut up, demon.’

‘Make me, angel.’

He bent down and kissed zir, and it was _still_ unthinkable that ze would stand on tiptoes. Honestly. But he didn’t mind. Zir petite form was nothing but endearing but very formidable when the occasion called, and ze was one wily adversary he’d be glad to have…

Well. On his side.

* * *

**OUTER HEBRIDES**

5:18 AM PST • **1:18 PM GMT**

Dagon was, much like always, swimming in the sea somewhere. Even if it was freezing, even if waves were crashing against the small island housing a single residence, incessant and untamed. Michael couldn’t understand her sometimes.

Well, at least the Archangel could focus on her paperwork.

Sitting at her desk by the window which was actually an entire translucent wall, Michael has been reviewing the final version of the Armistice Treaty for hours on end. Hell has been _very_ thorough about even the smallest details—excessively so, one might say, but there was nothing more important than getting all the fine points right, after all.

Apart from the contents of the Treaty, of course. It was _the_ single most important document in Heaven and Hell’s history since the first and only edition of the Great Plan Manifesto[17], signed and stained with 6030-year-old coffee.

Executing Aziraphale and Crowley, her—never mind. Whoever. That _hadn’t_ been her idea. That had been all Gabriel, and he’d been demoted to a desk job for fifty years for it because _clearly_ , he’d forgotten who was—second after Her, of course—in charge. So don’t let it be said she didn’t care.

Michael has always liked to think of herself as the sensible one, anyway. Not above having Hell on speed-dial and keeping in touch with the angel she had married even after she Fell, although secretively because, well. It was frowned upon[18].

Or so they’d all thought until Lucifer carried out an investigation and Beelzebub discovered it, as a matter of fact, wasn’t forbidden by the Almighty or anyone else[19] in _any_ of the official paperwork, which she personally doublechecked in Heaven’s files as well.

Since then, it’s been less of a secret—thank you _so_ very much, Crowley.

But it wasn’t a great tragedy, Heaven and Hell finding out. A bit of a scandal, yes, but no one got executed, and the offices worked on. She could live with being given odd looks now and then and immediately putting a stop to them because she had the power.

Speaking of power and official paperwork, she had yet to verify all references and compare them to the post-war statutes and the Manifesto, and the footnotes and citations too: correctness, proper marking and placement, and suchlike. It wouldn’t do to have someone question the sources upon which relied the entirety of Article 5, Interspecies Relationships.

Even if she knew what she was bloody talking about.

She looked out of the window, watching the wind trying to break the two pine trees in half and failing, over and over. Then, with a resolute nod and a lick to her thin lips, she took to reviewing the references. There were almost seven hours until the meeting; six if she subtracted the time for doing her hair and makeup.

Five if she subtracted the time for copying and printing a second copy[20], too. It was all a bit uncharacteristically hurried. She sighed. Bloody Lucifer, always had to rush things, disrespect the standard procedures. Or, you know, insist they hold the final meeting on New Year’s Day. _This one_ , 2020. The next would’ve been acceptable, but—

No matter. No sense in dwelling on things.

‘References! Let me look at this,’ she suddenly heard somewhere from behind, and then there were hands on her shoulders and hair tickling her face. _Wet_ hair. _Cold_ hands.

‘ _Almighty_ , you’re freezing. Get away from me,’ Michael said. ‘You’re dripping ice-cold seawater all over my turtleneck. Heavens forbid it get on the paperwork!’

Dagon, Lord of Files, quickly retreated out of the paperwork’s reach; that kind of threat always worked. Still, Michael could see her reflection[21] on the window grin toothily. ‘I could’ve hugged you, would be worse—’

‘Yes, that’s _so_ considerate of you,’ Michael smiled at her too sweetly, too falsely. You pick up a few things when you hang around your brother long enough. ‘Now get away. Dry yourself, _please_.’

‘As milady wishes,’ she said, _dryly_ , and went to the bathroom to fetch a towel, slapping her wet feet on the wooden floor all the way. This entire house wasn’t rotten through and through from all the water only thanks to Michael’s firm insistence that that was utterly _unacceptable_.

When you’re married to someone for two billion years, give or take, things become predictable. One of them has been a demon for only about a half of that, but she’s always loved water and sea creatures, even Before.

When you’re married to someone for that long, you’re also prepared to go to war against them and lose them, one way or another. It would be vicious, there was no doubting that. But it hadn’t come to that, and that was good too. They could annoy the Hell—Heaven— _Universe_ out of each other for a bit longer.

Or a whole eternity. Depends on how well it will go today.

Dagon came back, wearing an oversized beige jumper she’d stolen from Michael a couple years back and only slightly damp hair; a definite improvement. ‘Why didn’t you send us the final version with all the attachments, anyway?’ she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice. ‘A bit unfair, not letting us read the references. Bloody typical of your lot.’

‘It’s on a need-to-know basis. We sent you what you needed to know,’ Michael answered, mentally ticking off the citations for Article 1. ‘But it doesn’t matter anymore, and I did bring it here. Review Articles 6 to 12, will you?’ And before Dagon could sit down and take out anything that had glitter in it, she added, ‘ _Miracle_ it fixed if you find any mistakes—which shouldn’t happen, naturally, but just in case. _No_ glitter gel pens.’

‘Self-important prick,’ Dagon said, shaking her head. She hopped onto the desk to Michael’s right and made grabby hands at her. ‘Give it here.’

* * *

**LOS ANGELES**

**11:32 AM PST** • 7:32 PM GMT

Trixie was colouring a picture of fireworks on the night sky when she finally heard the key in the lock. She got up and ran to the door. Mummy was back from the city, and Adam was here!

The door opened. But to her great surprise, there weren’t just Mummy and Adam and Dog. He’s promised that he’d convince Uncle Crowley to give him a lift when they went to that Super Important Meeting Lucifer kept talking about and drop by[22], but he hasn’t said anything about his friends. And they were all here!

They waved at her, and she waved back and said, ‘Hi! Hi, Dog!’

Dog came running towards her as soon as he saw her, yapping excitedly. He started jumping at her legs sooner than Mummy even came inside and said, ‘Come along, kids, make yourselves at home. Do you want some soda? Or—tea? _Biscuits_?’

Oh, right, they called cookies _biscuits_ in England. Lucifer did too sometimes. It was funny, Trixie thought, and then thought about more of these differing words and if she could get a book about it for her birthday, or something. She liked the accent. Has been trying to learn it[23].

‘You don’t have the good ones anyway,’ Adam said, toeing off his shoes. Trixie scratched Dog behind his ears. He sniffed at something—could he smell the other dog in the house? Probably. She had to introduce them. Hopefully they’d get along!

‘Uncle Aziraphale makes the best biscuits in the _world_ ,’ Brian supplied as he hung his jacket on a peg. ‘No offence, Chloe. Can we call you Chloe? Adam does. Anyway, a coke would be great.’

Mummy laughed. ‘Yeah, Chloe is fine. Anything else?’

‘Just water, thank you,’ said Wensley, and Pepper and Adam agreed on orange juice. They all took off their jackets and boots and hovered in the doorway. Even from there, you could see all the Christmas lights and decorations. Not the tree, though. That was in the corner of the living room, where Muffin was dozing.

Her Hellhound, whom she got from Lucifer for Christmas.

‘I’ll show them our tree and introduce them to Muffin,’ Trixie said to Mummy, who was already in the kitchen. Dog yapped at the mention of him and dashed to the sofa.

‘Okay, monkey. I’ll bring the drinks in a sec,’ she called, opening the fridge.

‘So how was New Year’s?’ Trixie asked the Them. She already knew they were at Uncle Crowley and Aziraphale’s and had fireworks; Adam texted her yesterday afternoon, when it was almost midnight over there. ‘Linda actually let me stay up past midnight, and we watched the ball drop with Charlie, but he’s too small to remember. Mummy never let me before, but just between us,’ she lowered her voice, ‘I was up anyways.’

Adam laughed and started walking towards the sofa too. ‘Yeah. Me too. There are always fireworks in Tadfield, and I watch them from the window.’

‘Obviously. What’s the point of New Year’s Eve otherwise?’ Pepper said. ‘And this year it was better, we got to be on the beach and our parents had _no idea_.’

‘Anathema tried going into the sea, but it was _really_ cold,’ Adam said. ‘Dog would attest. Wouldn’t you, boy?’ Dog barked and wagged his tail.

‘Also, Newt threw up,’ said Brian.

‘And Crowley lit the fireworks with just his hand and nothing else. It was wicked.’

‘He thinks no one saw it, but actually, it was rather obvious[24].’

‘I wish I were there…’ Trixie said, with a sort of a dreamy look. At the sound of more yapping, she perked up and grinned. ‘Anyway, meet Muffin, guys!’ She ran over to his bed and picked him up, a small, white, excited thing. ‘He’s just a puppy now, but when he grows up, he’ll be just like Dog.’

‘ _That’s_ a Hellhound?’ Pepper asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘He doesn’t look very Hellhoundish.’

‘Well, neither does Dog,’ Wensley said.

‘He’s cute,’ said Brian. ‘What kind of dog is he? Other than a Hellhound I mean.’

‘Lucifer said he’s a bichon.’ She turned to Adam. ‘What do you think, Adam?’

‘I think he’s a cool dog, and that him and Dog will be friends,’ he said, like it meant something. It was one of those tricks he did with those powers he claimed he didn’t have anymore, like a liar. Trixie hoped Charlie would also have powers like that when he grows up. ‘And we’re almost like siblings now, aren’t we? Got the Hellhounds and all. Not that I want Lucifer to be my dad or anything, but it’s nice.’

At that moment, Mummy came over with the drinks and a plate of gingerbread men and reindeer, too. Trixie has helped decorate those. ‘There you go, three orange juices, a coke, and a water plus a bit to eat,’ she said. ‘I have some work to do, but I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything, alright?’

They nodded.

‘D’you know what he’s up to, and the others?’ asked Brian and parked himself on one end of the sofa. Wensley and Pepper took their drinks first, then sat down next to him. ‘They wouldn’t tell us.’

Trixie bit her lip and put Muffin back to his bed, where he could play with Dog. ‘Lucifer didn’t want to tell me anything, but I overheard him talk to Mummy about—peace between Heaven and Hell?’

‘It’s about time, too,’ Adam said seriously. Then he grinned and jumped into an armchair. ‘Can we play Mario again[25]? Also, I really like your Christmas tree. It’s bigger than ours.’

It was a fir that reached almost all the way to the ceiling, much like the one Uncles Crowley and Aziraphale had—she saw the photos—but only decorated with red and gold and a few of Trixie’s painted paper ornaments, absolutely not as mismatched as theirs. And there had been a _tonne_ of presents underneath!

‘Only if _I’m_ Mario,’ Pepper said, and it was okay, even if Trixie usually picked him. She could be Luigi for once, or someone else. They’ve never played Mario Kart together, not all five of them, and while she could never beat Adam, maybe she could beat _them_.

‘Sure,’ she said. She found the game and turned the TV and the Wii on. ‘And then we can take the dogs to the park. And play some board games.’

‘It’s weird that it’s so warm outside,’ Brian noted, looking out of the window. He drank his coke. ‘Back home you freeze your arse off even if it’s not really freezing and there’s usually rain. And wind.’

‘It is weird,’ Pepper agreed. ‘But imagine living in Australia; they’ve got Christmas in summer. What a ridiculous thought! I sort of want to live there…’

Trixie took the controllers back to the sofa and passed them to everyone. She said, ‘Maybe you could move here though? Like, for college or something? We’ll be _so_ old then, but it would be nice if we could all live together with our dogs. Lucifer could pay for everything.’

‘Maybe,’ Adam said. ‘If our parents won’t mind. Who knows, really[26].’ He shrugged and reached for a gingerbread man wearing a suit, like Lucifer. Or what was supposed to be a suit, anyway. It was mostly a lump of icing covering almost the whole cookie.

‘Either way, I’d still bet we’re having _much_ more fun than Lucifer and everyone else right now.’

* * *

**THE HEAVEN/HELL BUILDING**

**1:06 PM PST** • **9:06 PM GMT**

Kill him now.

This was probably the most important meeting of the last six millennia, or perhaps longer, sure. A very grave and precarious thing, this armistice. Crowley didn’t deny that. Everyone’s been on about it since October. _He’s_ been on about it since October. Worrying. Debating with Aziraphale. Drinking to it, last night.

It was just that it was bloody _long-winded_.

No, actually, that was an understatement.

They’ve already been at it for an _hour_ and only got to _Article-bloody-Two_ , because while they _could_ have sent an electronic copy to everyone, no demons besides Beelzebub and Mazikeen owned a mobile phone or any other portable electronic device, and Heaven didn’t have enough spares or time to teach everyone how to use them, so they had to _read_ everything.

And the worst thing—Michael was enjoying it.

Crowley did his damnedest to at least _try_ to keep still, in the meantime, but he was known to be a nervous thing, always moving and tapping and gesturing. Or playing with his mobile. It wasn’t going well.

In any case, all of this reminded him why he never took part in any of Hell’s bureaucratic bullshit if he could help it and spent his time roaming Earth and tempting people instead, and popping Downstairs every now and then to report on his progress and give a PowerPoint.

He blew a raspberry, annoying the demon sitting next to him, and looked around the Lobby, listening with little under half of his brain.

The place has gone through some magical changes since the last time he was there, in November[27]. Grew a bit bigger. No fewer than two hundred angels and demons were sitting around a lectern, in terraced rows of seats like it was a meeting of the Houses of Parliament—in which the angels were the Lords and the demons were the Commons, or something.

This, alas, meant that he couldn’t sit next to Aziraphale, because he was still a demon and Aziraphale was still an angel at the heart of things, Their Side or not. He couldn’t hold his hand, tell him about how he just wanted them to get on with it. He could glance at him, sitting in the third row on the opposite side, and exchange a Look with him, but that was about it.

He could glance at Lucifer too, being equally bored and playing with a pen. Beelzebub, with zir feet up on the desk[28] in front of zir. Dagon, listening to every word out of professional interest and probably pride, too, because she wrote a good quarter of the thing, what with all the editing. The angels, sitting stiffly for the most part.

Michael finished reading out Article 2, which he only noticed because she cleared her throat.

Look. Aziraphale and he, they weren’t employees of either office anymore. The rules didn’t apply to them. They were there as guests of honour, just to see what they’d—basically—accomplished. He was allowed to be bored.

‘Does anyone have any questions so far?’ Michael asked. No one raised a hand or said anything; there was merely a cough from one of the demonic party, and Lucifer dropped the pen. ‘No? Very well then. Shall we proceed?’

And then, ‘I have a question.’

Michael glanced at Lucifer. She raised an eyebrow as if questions were actually unwanted, discouraged even. Classic angels. ‘Oh?’

‘Could I weigh in a bit? This is, after all, about peace, acceptance, yadda yadda yadda. Feels like I should have a word, no?’

Michael looked stricken for a second, but she quickly composed herself and gave him a thin-lipped smiled. She stepped away from the lectern and beckoned for him to accept the honour. ‘Of course. The podium is yours.’

Lucifer got up and buttoned his charcoal-black jacket. ‘Thank you, Michael; it’s always been a pleasure doing business with you,’ he smiled widely, like an actor accepting an award and then saying they really didn’t see it coming. Crowley grimaced at him, which he couldn’t see. Probably for the best.

Lucifer cleared his throat and propped his hands on the podium. His eyes travelled over the audience. ‘See? This is how things can look like when we stop fighting for five minutes. Cold but civil, almost like back in the old days. Which—painful memories, I know. But that’s what this,’ he lifted the stack of paper called Armistice Treaty in one hand and waved it about, ‘is all about. Reminding us that the Great-bloody-War was nothing but a family spat.

‘If there’s anything I’ve learnt during my time on Earth, it’s that families fight and murder each other, often over petty things like money or the husband having an affair. That’s true enough. But families also stick together, even through years of discord and undesirable gatherings. They find a way. Just look at Amenadiel and I, getting through—and trust me when I say that no one’s more surprised about that than me.’

Amenadiel perked up at the mention and his grey wings fluttered in the metaphysical plane. And Crowley frowned. And licked his lips. This could be both a godsend—perhaps not literally[29]—and an utter disaster.

His speeches did tend to have that effect. And if he kept on going, someone might just start a fight. Remember the last time this happened; the very last time he was _openly talking about_ , for his sake!

Mostly because he was _right_ and they all knew it, however deep in a state of denial they might be.

‘Then there are Aziraphale and Crowley, who are traitors for _what_ , precisely, _loving each other_? Or pointing out that all of you,’ he made a circular gesture around the Lobby, ‘identified with the idea of another war for so long you forgot that the Great Plan was written _much_ later than the bloody Ineffable one? Wanted to destroy a whole planet to see whose gang was best, to quote my son—who was born much without my knowledge, and we should talk about that at some point[30], probably, but anyway.’

He looked at the demons. Crowley was pretty sure he looked at him, specifically. And that his cheeks were a bit redder than usual. Say it louder for the people in the back, would you?

But it started to sound a lot like vindication.

‘I wasn’t there. I wasn’t in Hell to beat some sense into you then, unfortunately. We could speculate about how it would’ve turned out if I were, probably far more smartly and in about 2015, but. There’s no sense to waste time with what-ifs. Things happened, we got over them, I got Hell back, got engaged to a human, and angels are happily having sex with demons, and guess what? Big blessed deal!’

His gaze slipped to Beelzebub in the row beneath Crowley, and then landed on Gabriel on the other side. He gave them a light nod. Crowley was still busy being mortified. So were some of the others, it seemed, outraged at even the _mention_ of— _that_.

Well—he agreed, though. It was something amazing.

‘Beelzebub, Gabriel, let me congratulate you,’ Lucifer continued. ‘You really did very hypocritically say fuck you to conventions and got back together after a billion-year break! Well done! I must say, you do deserve each other. And Michael, sister dear, my my, you’re a shining example of how well we can _fraternise_.’ He took a dramatic breath. ‘I know, I know. What the Heaven is Satan on about? Why should we listen to him? Isn’t he supposed to hate angels?

‘Darlings, I never did. Why, what’s the point? Why dwell a billion years in the past? Why fight when we can just leave each other be and live our own lives? Yes, there will be meetings like this once a year. Yes, the tube mail will be a bit busier, and Hell might even have to _start using the e-mail addresses I assigned everyone half a year ago_. Yes, there will be retribution for breaking the Treaty’s laws. Yes, it will be hard to get used to things for many of you, because not everyone is as progressive as certain individuals.

‘Isn’t it time to change that, though? We’ve been living in the same comfortable lane for an _eighth_ of our lives, more for the younger ones, even. Too bloody long. Humans, they’re all about change. They’re fascinating. We gave them this planet and sent our agents there to influence them, but really, that’s another _unimaginable_ thing those two besotted idiots—’ _Excuse you_ , Crowley thought— ‘figured out. They did everything on their own. Some are good, some are bad, but mostly they’re just human. They’re worth it. Worth caring about. And that’s another thing they taught me. Well, lots about alcohol and sex and how everything is possible on the internet, but that’s beside the point,’ he laughed.

‘We wanted free will. Humans have had it from the start—yes, thanks to yours truly—but what if—just this once, what if we have it too? You chose to follow me Down, or you chose to stay faithful to the Almighty. Still a choice, isn’t it? Think about it for a minute. And then consider this: you have a choice now. To keep fighting, or to… stop.’

Lucifer opened the Treaty on the first page. Contents. He’s contributed to it in great measures and read it over and over besides, so he knew what it said by heart. And frankly, Crowley was very fucking curious now.

‘Here’s what this says, _very_ long document short,’ he said, and Paused Dramatically again. ‘Articles One and Two, Foreword and Cooperation Clause. We’ve all heard that, so we shall skip it. Article Three, Employment Clause, now that’s a more interesting one. Any angel or demon who wishes to no longer work for their respective office can quit and will receive pension for all eternity. Long queues included, of course, but the possibility is there.’

Now, that was new. Interesting indeed. Crowley couldn’t imagine any of the demons leaving, but it was _something_. It was for life, before. God’s orders. Satan’s orders. A totally unquittable job, being an angel or a demon.

And then Aziraphale and he quit anyway.

He glanced at the angel and gave him a quick thumbs-up, fighting back the urge to grin. Aziraphale mimicked the gesture, fighting a lot less.

‘Articles Four to Six say that angels can continue to marry angels, and demons still do have the possibility to marry other demons, though Mother knows they don’t[31], but that angels and demons can also marry _each other_ , or be friends with benefits or just friends or what have you, and with humans too. No restrictions, love for everyone!’ Lucifer said next.

And—oh. This was a thing that’s been known for a while. But making it a _law_? He wouldn’t _dream_ that they’d be capable of even putting those words on _paper_. Oh, what he’d give to see the front row now. The cringing angels were quite the sight.

He also didn’t get any Ideas. Absolutely not.

‘Article Seven states that we shall continue to observe, preserve, and influence Earth just like we’ve always done, nothing new under the sun, only this time it’s for an indefinite period of time, and we must share our schedules and assignments, so we’d avoid the Crowley-Aziraphale Effect. That’s what I’m calling it, yes, my apologies, but it was too funny. Anyway. Eight, Game Nights, boring. We know the rules of those. Nine says that Earth shall not be a battleground, ever, and that we shall not engage in further wars. Ten lists all crimes and punishable offences against each other and how they are to be punished and the _very precise_ cases of the death penalty. Michael and I are in charge of that and will be holding proper trials, _together_.’

Lucifer’s eyes were on Crowley again—and Aziraphale, apologetic. Michael affirmed this with a nod in no particular direction.

‘There are, of course, exceptions, just as there are in the human laws. I am something of an expert on that, in case someone here still isn’t up to date and doesn’t know that I work for the Los Angeles Police Department. Those comprise self-defence or accidents, for example, but we _will_ investigate, so don’t think you could stab someone with a celestial weapon and then say they fell on top of it. Article Eleven talks about all that.

‘And finally, Twelve and the legal business. If everything is approved by a vast majority, it will come into force by the 1st of June 2020, exactly half a year from today. I rather like to think that those are acceptable terms, no? The entire document is available on all devices in Heaven and Hell’s possession—once again, do check your email every once in a while—so you can all read it and see I’m not lying, which I _never_ am, so that’s on you.

‘Now, one more thing. Hastur, please rise.’ The Duke did. And there was quiet. Crowley—didn’t know what to think. Bloody Hastur. ‘For attempting to steal Hellhound pups from the Royal Kennels and raising them to help you start a coup, I am demoting you to an Under-Duke and reassigning you to Alpha Centauri Department in the city of Pandæmonium. That’s where you came from 6000 years ago, isn’t it?’

‘But, you can’t!’ Hastur said. ‘That’s outrageous! I didn’t do anything, you don’t have proof—and this whole bloody Treaty is _preposterous_ , making peace with _angels_ —’

‘Are you forgetting you’re talking to your King?’ Lucifer roared. His wings materialised and cast an eerie light across the whole room, the blindingly white desks. ‘You can be glad I won’t have you executed, honestly! I’m trying to be a merciful ruler here, but that can still change.’

Hastur nodded, terrified. The air suddenly tasted like justice.

Also, Crowley couldn’t help but stare at those monumental wings. The last time he’s seen them like this—must’ve been just after the Fall, but they were torn and bloody and slightly scorched, then. He’s heard, of course, of the day he unfurled them in front of all of Hell and nearly blinded a dozen demons when he executed Neron for treason and took Hell and everyone’s loyalty back, just this April. But hearing and seeing…

And listening. It turned out to be one of those transfixing speeches. Lucifer got everyone to listen. Like—Before. He’d got everyone on his side by speaking too, back then, making grand speeches about God and free will and all the _questions_. He’d got _Crowley_ on his side.

Just now, though, it might be a good thing.

‘Excellent,’ he said. He flapped his wings once and put them back where they’d come from. ‘Sorry for the interruption; had to be done. And now I’d like to propose a break, some time to think on things. Michael?’

Michael pouted. She didn’t like being sidelined so rudely; Crowley suspected it was the good old rivalry, too, a ghost of the past. She and Lucifer had History[32]. Nevertheless, she opted not to comment on his takeover and said, ‘Of course. We shall meet here again in two hours?’

‘Yes, wonderful. You heard her—two hours. Then we can go over any and all notes, questions, and objections, hold a debate, and finally vote on this.’

Right. They absolutely _had to_ make this longer. Crowley blew a raspberry, again, and glanced at his watch, which still ran on UK time even in this timeless blob of a building, which, actually, decided to have a clock now. It was almost 9:40.

It was time to stretch his limbs and go talk to Aziraphale.

The angel had the same idea and met Crowley halfway. ‘Do you fancy some dinner, Crowley?’ he asked and pointed at one of the eighteen doors with his index finger. ‘London’s that way, no?’

‘Yes please,’ Crowley said, and together they left the overly bright room in favour of the good, not-Hell kind of dark and damp you usually found in London. Aziraphale led the way, and honestly, Crowley didn’t even care what bistro they were going to end up in. He took a deep breath. ‘So, that was a thing.’

‘Oh, I am terribly excited about this!’ Aziraphale said, and the wrinkles around his eyes agreed. ‘For the first time in—well, ever, really, we have a chance on erasing the boundaries and living in peace. I do hope it will be approved.’

‘Well, if the likes of Hastur—’ Crowley’s lips stretched in a smile as his brain replayed the moment of Lucifer demoting him, completely on their own. Sweet, sweet vengeance. ‘That was great, how he got rid of him in front of everyone! But anyway. If there are more like him, stuffy old conservatives, well…’

‘Don’t lose your optimism, my dear, you _heard_ the speech,’ Aziraphale said, comfortingly. A bit too pointedly to really be comforting, though. He looked ahead of himself. Humans milled about all around them. ‘I can see why Lucifer was so popular back then, I must admit. I can—I can see the allure.’

Crowley snorted. ‘Yeah, no shit. Brought us all Down, didn’t it?’

Aziraphale flinched, almost invisibly. Crowley still saw; he could wax poetic about his every move if he weren’t shitty with words most of the time. Then he reached for his hand. ‘Darling—I’m sorry,’ he said, with feeling.

‘Nah, like I said. It’s not that bad when you get used to it. And it’s the angels who’ve got to see that, first and foremost.’

‘He was right, about change,’ Aziraphale said after a brief, contemplative pause. ‘I did _not_ like the—the _Crowley-Aziraphale Effect_ , though. We haven’t gone through all that to be _mocked_ by the _Devil_ in official paperwork!’

‘ _Well_ ,’ Crowley said, drawing out the vowel. ‘He does have a point.’

‘Crowley!’ he scolded. ‘I mean, yes, but for _that_ to be our legacy, well.’

‘The whole Treaty is our legacy, angel.’ Crowley shook his head in sort of amused disbelief. ‘And look, they’re acknowledging our brilliant discovery about cancelling one another’s influence. And naming it after us. You should be proud. _I_ am.’

‘Hush, you serpent. Also, what’s that smell?’ He took a drag of air, smelling of curry, peppers, roast chicken. Some other spices, all blended together. His face instantly melted and mind focused on food. Typical Aziraphale. Crowley’s mouth quirked up in a half-smile, and he followed the angel into a Pakistani restaurant that looked newly-opened.

They sat down. Aziraphale ordered some sort of curry-and-rice special, and Crowley opted for an espresso and trying a bite off his plate, as of old. They talked, mostly about the Treaty and when to take down the Christmas tree and how the best curry Aziraphale has eaten was in Mumbai in 1871. Two hours went by almost too fast.

They came back to a mild staring contest between the two sides of the provisory boardroom and a group of Lucifer, Amenadiel, Michael, Gabriel, Beelzebub, Dagon, and Mazikeen talking rather animatedly in a corner.

Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. ‘See you in a new era then,’ he said to Aziraphale, and gave an awkward little wave as a response to his nod. Then he shuffled off to his spot in the second row of the Demon Side.

Whichever era it would be.

The group dispersed two minutes later, and Michael and Lucifer walked to the lectern together. She assumed the word and said, ‘Welcome back. We could deal with the formalities, but I think that is rather unnecessary, so let me jump straight to the questions. _Does_ anyone have questions?’

‘What happens if we don’t adopt it?’ asked a demon in the third row.

Silence fell over the Lobby. Probably everyone had that one on their mind. Crowley did, too.

‘Well, then things will stay as they were, and there will be a war in another 6000 years,’ Michael answered without blinking once.

And—that has never been discussed.

‘What? Says who?’ asked an angel Crowley didn’t recognise, and then someone from his row shouted, ‘Would be best, too!’ and someone else added, ‘Why in 6000 years? Has God given you another Plan? We can just fight right away!’

So much for staying optimistic.

‘Or we could simply _not_ fight,’ said Amenadiel. He rose from his seat and slowly made his way to the podium. He stood next to Lucifer. ‘You’ve all been learning about Earth in these past few months, watching human TV series on Fridays and eating their food. You’ve heard it yourself that God has never forbidden angels and demons to interact. You’ve heard Lucifer. And you know what I think? We’re progressing on our own. That’s why we said 6000 years—it’s a long enough time to work on the relationships between us and to get comfortable with life as it is. No one will want to fight anyway in _8020_. So why not make it easier for ourselves, siblings?’

‘He’s right, you know.’

Everyone looked at Crowley. A lump formed in his throat. He didn’t mean to say that. He really didn’t want to draw attention to himself, as much as he loved attention, not in this crowd. But it was too late. Aziraphale was raising an eyebrow at him, but smiling sort of—proudly, and, bollocks.

‘Errrm,’ he said. This was awkward. He straightened a bit and tried to look nonchalant. _What_ was he going to say, for Heaven’s sake? ‘I mean. _Fuck_ , listen, guys. We made the stars together once. And we can’t get back to that. We,’ he made a vague gesture around the demonkind, ‘and I think I can safely speak for everyone here, don’t want to, that’s the whole point of _leaving_. But think about it for a sec, yeah? Fighting? What’s the point in _that_? Yeah, I, yeah, we hate each other, or whatever, and I’m the traitor who stopped Armageddon to have more lunches with my sworn enemy, who I—you know. Bloody Hell, the whole blasted Universe knows. But _that’s_ the point. We can—demons can help kids, bring suffocated doves to life, grow blackcurrants in their garden. Angels can be cruel sadists—not you, Aziraphale—enjoy sushi, terrify mafia people to leave and never show up again. It’s not—it’s not black and white, even though the colour scheme of our clothes kinda denies that whole statement. Erm. What was I on about? Oh yeah. Hate is easy and stupid and old as hat. _Come on_ , you can do better.’

He spread his arms out and leant back on his chair. He looked at Aziraphale, and the angel was beaming, and Crowley was pretty sure everyone in the room, especially the angelic love detectors, could. Feel that.

He grinned back.

But it was still awkward. No one was saying anything. ‘Please, by all means, continue,’ he said, hoping they would, and absolutely not mentally telling his heart to calm down and stop being so dramatic. He gestured to emphasise his words.

‘Thank you,’ said Michael, giving him a nod of acknowledgement, and—to quote Lucifer—there was no one more surprised about that than the two of them. Crowley winced but forced himself to nod back.

_Michael knew who he’d been before_ [33]. She was acknowledging _that_ , silently.

Lucifer asked, ‘Does anyone else have any notes they wish to share with the class?’

‘I’ll fight anyone who refuses to sign it,’ said Maze. She jabbed her blade into the table, at least an inch deep. ‘I mean it.’

‘Now that’s a different approach. Thank you, Mazikeen. Anyone else?’ No one said a word, and a few individuals shook their head. ‘Very well. Let’s get straight to it, then.’

Michael picked up a translucent tablet and said, ‘Everyone _for_ , please raise your hand.’ Hands went up. Data swirled on the screen. It was too close to a half. ‘Now, everyone _against_ , please raise your hand.’

She nodded, and the alarming number of beings put their hands down. The tablet noted down the numbers and did the maths. It was some sort of—angelic technology, scanning the room, and it would no doubt be the most precise thing in the Universe. She showed the results to Lucifer and Amenadiel.

The circulation of air in the Lobby as if stopped[34].

‘Can I say it?’ Lucifer asked Michael.

‘I think I should announce the results,’ she said, narrowing her eyes. ‘You’ve said enough today.’

‘I have the same authority as you—’

‘I’ll announce the results, as the older sibling of _both of you_ ,’ Amenadiel said, taking the tablet from Michael’s hands. He squinted at the screen. ‘Alright! I must say the playing field is very level here, which isn’t all that surprising. However, 53 per cent of you voted in favour of accepting the Armistice Treaty, and it is my great pleasure to say that at least on paper, we are no longer enemies.’

Silence.

Then Amenadiel smiled, and so did Lucifer. He gave him a pat on the back and said, ‘So we did it, brother!’ He turned to the rest of the Lobby. ‘You heard him. Let’s sign this and make sure it’s not only on paper, then, dear angels and demons!’

Mazikeen then shouted something about personally coming for the other 47 per cent. Crowley didn’t pay attention. He was blinking away the victorious disbelief behind his sunglasses, and only had eyes for Aziraphale. And Aziraphale was grinning like a Cheshire cat, like the bloody _sun_.

The Apocalypse felt _won_ at last. Happy New Blasted Year to the whole galaxy and everything beyond, eh?

May the sun never stop shining.

* * *

1 Perhaps even in the literal sense—there _was_ an old fishing boat stashed away in the garden shed, rocking on the waves by the pier in summer and perfectly useful, and if Crowley, or someone else, got drunk enough, they might get ideas.[✿]

2 It was nigh a miracle that the secret lasted this long; especially after the round of Cards Against Humanity they played earlier, and with all the alcohol and being inside their house, _full_ of evidence of its owners’ immortality. Well, guess that could be written off to Aziraphale’s antique-collecting hobby…[✿]

3 The rumours claimed that Hell was unbearably hot. That was mostly wrong. Hell was cold and damp and dark; only the sea of boiling sulphur and the river Phlegethon were hot, the former of which was a popular holiday destination these days.[✿]

4 Thanks to none other than Crowley himself. Or at least Azrael, who knew the whole time, once let it slip that they’ve been in touch, and Crowley used that to his advantage and Dared her to admit it during a Game Night in July—the first he’s been to—in front of 28 other people. And then it spread.[✿]

5 He’s been drinking with Shadwell. “Be a proper man, laddie, have a pint with me! Aye! I’ll teach ye how to _drink_ if ye cannae burn a witch worth a damn—”[✿]

6 Well, they _were_ sort of celebrating last year, but only because they’d stopped the Apocalypse. Aziraphale even dragged Crowley _outside_ , to watch the fireworks above the Thames. They talked about Things and got drunk like they normally would, though, so the day still wasn’t much too unusual. Just the kiss was.[✿]

7 Oh yeah. Crowley, and of course Aziraphale as well, could understand him, being of angelic stock and speaking every language found in the Universe—if somewhat rustily, in most cases.[✿]

8 They didn’t sleep, if you must know. The humans, staying in the guest bedroom, in the second guest bedroom which hasn’t existed previously, and on the sofa, were still dead asleep though, snoring and probably hungover. The kids, however, were already munching on cereals in front of the telly and haggling over which show to watch. Early birds.[✿]

9 Definitely a demonic invention, that, seemingly nice and fancy but really a mess that got everywhere and took ages to clean up.[✿]

10 Alone. Linda was at home, watching Charlie and Trixie and Muffin the Hellhound-turned-dog Trixie has got from Lucifer for Christmas.[✿]

11 Did you really think it would some kind of a small meeting, the Archangels and the Council? They already approved all the paperwork. There would be nothing to discuss. No, the official armistice had to go through a proper vote. Like _human_ laws. But it would still be a pain to organise a large-scale event, not to mention it taking literal ages if 30 million beings should participate, so they elected a number of representatives from every choir and department possible.[✿]

12 Also known as Belial, whose animal aspect was—wait for it—a turtle.[✿]

13 Again. This bed has been through more miraculous repairs than either of them could count. Thankfully, none of the hotel staff ever seemed to notice.[✿]

14 Gabriel and the other angels were still learning about human culture. And once he discovered optical illusions such as these, he didn’t let go. He couldn’t figure out the most of them, but when he did, it was a Great Deed and he wouldn’t stop talking about it. _There’s an old woman, and now she’s a young woman when you look at it like that! Look! Isn’t that fascinating? I love human art!_

One of these days, Beelzebub is going to tell him about Finding Waldo, and he’s going to lose his _mind_.[✿]

15 The answer was sometimes in May [when he met up with zir at a pub](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19861321/chapters/48501662) and argued about the disgustingness of chips and then actually physically _fought_ and then ended up kissing zir for the first time—as a demon, anyway, the past was a different matter altogether—and teleporting into this hotel room. It led to discoveries. But he wasn’t entirely honest with himself about it, and kept trying to convince himself that he did _not_ have feelings for zir. And repeatedly failing, as you can see.[✿]

16 Which was miracled so it would never be taken when needed—or ever, really.[✿]

17 It _was_ written. Beelzebub and Gabriel weren’t wrong. The Ineffable Plan, though, that one was written on a rock somewhere, in space, in illegible letters only God Herself could decipher, if at all. It was anyone’s guess what it really said. Crowley and Aziraphale got about the gist of it, with the bigger letters and double underlining.[✿]

18 That was one of the largest understatements in all of history. Look at her, pointing out the Earth Surveillance Photos to Gabriel while fully knowing she was being, unangelically, an utter hypocrite and still keeping on a serious face. Well, it wasn’t difficult around Gabriel…[✿]

19 Mostly because no one had thought it would occur, ever, and the Almighty knew it would. Planned it, too. It wasn’t Her fault that everyone jumped to conclusions.[✿]

20 One for Heaven, one for Hell. Michael hoped Dagon would make sure it was archived safely and didn’t catch mould within the first week, as things tended to Down There.[✿]

21 Naked reflection. She always swam naked, no matter the temperature, and sometimes even turned into a moray eel. That rather depended on her mood, and the general mood of the demons in Hell. If they were especially pissed or demanding, so was she, and had to be a fish for a while to rewind.[✿]

22 It was amazing. The Meeting took place in the Heaven/Hell Building, and when you entered it in London, you could come out in LA, because there were doors to many cities there, and LA was one of them, which was very convenient for Lucifer—and Adam, when he visited. It was all like in _Harry Potter_.[✿]

23 That were the actor genes in her, and hanging out with Lucifer and even the Them (and Damian, he was only 14 but taught her the basics of martial arts and had lots of pets, came by once a week) quite a lot. Also watching _Harry Potter_. Anyway, she thought it was useful, learning different accents. [✿]

24 Anathema’s friends, being oblivious civilians, didn’t even consider the possibility that he might be lighting the fireworks with his fingers, and so they, thankfully, _didn’t_ notice. Neither did Shadwell, although he was cursing “the Devil’s works” anyway.[✿]

25 Adam and Trixie usually met up once in a month or two, when someone had to drive to London and was available to take him there. They walked Dog, played board games, watched TV or went to the cinema, occasionally, talked about Things, and wrote stories/drew art for them, sometimes. But three months ago, Adam found out she had a console, and they’ve been playing every time ever since.[✿]

26 God knew, and She could tell you that Trixie’s idea wasn’t all that far from what would eventually happen.[✿]

27 It was one of those Game Nights again, last Friday of the month. Angels, demons, and a couple of humans got together every two months to chat, drink, and play board games against each other, and this time it was time for Jenga and Uno. That game lasted for _fifteen hours_. One game, bit adjusted rules. Thirty-two beings played. It was fun.[✿]

28 A white desk. Everything was white, shapeless, lifeless—like everything in Heaven. It was quite clear who has conjured up the furniture.[✿]

29 Indeed. God had nothing to do with this. However, She listened carefully, surprised at Her son’s sudden spark of wisdom and _paraphrasing_ Her Own Words. Like, _wow_ , you go, Lucifer.[✿]

30 Linda would say they all needed counselling. She’d be absolutely correct.[✿]

31 If there were any demon couples Downstairs, they have either Fallen as couples, or weren’t really all that couple-y. Demons didn’t do love or dating. They avoided it, preferring casual sex or staying away from any sort of affection whatsoever, even if they _could_ feel it. They _chose_ not to. All in all, only two pairs got married in all of Hell’s history, and they were Hellions anyway. Not one of the Fallen.

Angels, however, were beings of love, and bonds between two individuals weren’t uncommon.[✿]

32 _Friends to lovers to friends again to enemies to somewhat reluctant allies_ about summed it up. [✿]

33 Her younger brother. Or, _his_ younger _sister_ , actually. There’s been lots of gender stuff going on. The point was, they’d been _close_ and then spent the last billion years pretending it hadn’t been so. They met—once?[✿]

34 There was no circulation of air, as celestials didn’t need to breathe. But the feeling was there.[✿]

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos sustain me ♡


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